you,
tough guy.
OW
whenever I see a photo of myself
I think,
Jesus Christ, look at that ugly
bloated
whale of a fish!
no wonder I had such a problem
getting them
from the couch to the
bedroom
and had to get
myself
drunk
before attempting
it.
MY DOOM SMILES AT ME—
there’s no other way:
8 or ten poems a
night.
in the sink
behind me are dishes
that haven’t been
washed in 2
weeks.
the sheets need
changing
and the bed is
unmade.
half the lights are
burned-out here.
it gets darker
and darker
(I have replacement
bulbs but can’t get them
out of their cardboard
wrapper.) Despite my
dirty shorts in the
bathtub
and the rest of my dirty
laundry on the
bedroom floor,
they haven’t
come for me yet
with their badges and
their rules and their
numb ears. oh, them
and their caprice!
like the fox
I run with the hunted and
if I’m not the happiest
man on earth I’m surely the
luckiest man
alive.
HEY, KAFKA!
tonight,
in this very dark
night,
looking out the window
at the lights in the
harbor,
there’s very little to
think about or
do.
I smile, looking at
my hands—
I always had small
hands.
now
day by day
they seem to be
growing
larger.
is it some type of terrible
disease?
alone in the room
I laugh
loudly
at the thought of
my hands
growing so
LARGE
that they can’t
fit all of me
into my
casket.
what a delightful frightening
thought!
“what’s wrong with this
son of a bitch? his
hands are the size of
his body!”
then
I forget all that and
look out at the lights
again.
A STRANGE VISIT
20 years ago when
I was a starving writer
a lady in a gold Cadillac
pulled up outside my humble place
got out and
knocked on the door.
she was well dressed,
smiling,
really beautiful.
she sat on my couch
and I poured her a drink
as she said,
“I am the Queen of
Rats in a woman’s
body.”
“you look great,”
I said
“I have come to invite you to live
with us
in Rat Kingdom.
the world is going to end
with a bang
soon and all that will be left
will be Rats and a few
roaches.
we admire you and I have come
to invite you to join us
before it’s too late.”
“come on,” I said, “let’s go
into the bedroom and talk it
over.”
“you’re being frivolous,” she
said. “I’m asking you seriously if you will
join our Kingdom of
Rats.
will you?”
“have another drink,” I
replied, “and I’ll think it
over.”
she got up then, walked to the
door, opened it, walked out.
I stood at the window,
watched her get into her
gold Cadillac and drive
off.
20 years ago
I thought it was someone’s
idea of a feeble
joke.
now, I am no longer so
sure.
sometimes I think I should have
left with her.
other times
I am sure that I
did.
1970 BLUES
what I need, what I really need is
a blue dog with green eyes or
a fish that smiles like the Mona Lisa.
what I need, what I really need is
to never ever hear the Blue Danube Waltz
again
or to have to watch a baseball game on tv
like a slow chess match moving toward death.
what I need, what I really need is
to dream the decent dream
and I don’t mean the church or god
I mean just looking up some day
and seeing one human face midst
the billions of strangled dying sun
flowers.
what I really need, what I really need is
to laugh the way I used to laugh
because in this cage
there is nothing to do
nowhere to go.
what I need, what I really need is
to confront the walls
and to get ready for that motherfucker
Death
almost with a sense of
glee.
why?: because I would be
getting away from
you.
who?
you: rat with eyes like a
woman.
SNOW WHITE
now continues
the slow retreat, still tabulating the wounds, the
escapes, the mutilated years.
there was always something in the way, something wrong,
there was never
enough.
now continues
the slow retreat,
packing age as an extra, no peace, even now.
you pluck a hair and find it to be white
tough guy.
OW
whenever I see a photo of myself
I think,
Jesus Christ, look at that ugly
bloated
whale of a fish!
no wonder I had such a problem
getting them
from the couch to the
bedroom
and had to get
myself
drunk
before attempting
it.
MY DOOM SMILES AT ME—
there’s no other way:
8 or ten poems a
night.
in the sink
behind me are dishes
that haven’t been
washed in 2
weeks.
the sheets need
changing
and the bed is
unmade.
half the lights are
burned-out here.
it gets darker
and darker
(I have replacement
bulbs but can’t get them
out of their cardboard
wrapper.) Despite my
dirty shorts in the
bathtub
and the rest of my dirty
laundry on the
bedroom floor,
they haven’t
come for me yet
with their badges and
their rules and their
numb ears. oh, them
and their caprice!
like the fox
I run with the hunted and
if I’m not the happiest
man on earth I’m surely the
luckiest man
alive.
HEY, KAFKA!
tonight,
in this very dark
night,
looking out the window
at the lights in the
harbor,
there’s very little to
think about or
do.
I smile, looking at
my hands—
I always had small
hands.
now
day by day
they seem to be
growing
larger.
is it some type of terrible
disease?
alone in the room
I laugh
loudly
at the thought of
my hands
growing so
LARGE
that they can’t
fit all of me
into my
casket.
what a delightful frightening
thought!
“what’s wrong with this
son of a bitch? his
hands are the size of
his body!”
then
I forget all that and
look out at the lights
again.
A STRANGE VISIT
20 years ago when
I was a starving writer
a lady in a gold Cadillac
pulled up outside my humble place
got out and
knocked on the door.
she was well dressed,
smiling,
really beautiful.
she sat on my couch
and I poured her a drink
as she said,
“I am the Queen of
Rats in a woman’s
body.”
“you look great,”
I said
“I have come to invite you to live
with us
in Rat Kingdom.
the world is going to end
with a bang
soon and all that will be left
will be Rats and a few
roaches.
we admire you and I have come
to invite you to join us
before it’s too late.”
“come on,” I said, “let’s go
into the bedroom and talk it
over.”
“you’re being frivolous,” she
said. “I’m asking you seriously if you will
join our Kingdom of
Rats.
will you?”
“have another drink,” I
replied, “and I’ll think it
over.”
she got up then, walked to the
door, opened it, walked out.
I stood at the window,
watched her get into her
gold Cadillac and drive
off.
20 years ago
I thought it was someone’s
idea of a feeble
joke.
now, I am no longer so
sure.
sometimes I think I should have
left with her.
other times
I am sure that I
did.
1970 BLUES
what I need, what I really need is
a blue dog with green eyes or
a fish that smiles like the Mona Lisa.
what I need, what I really need is
to never ever hear the Blue Danube Waltz
again
or to have to watch a baseball game on tv
like a slow chess match moving toward death.
what I need, what I really need is
to dream the decent dream
and I don’t mean the church or god
I mean just looking up some day
and seeing one human face midst
the billions of strangled dying sun
flowers.
what I really need, what I really need is
to laugh the way I used to laugh
because in this cage
there is nothing to do
nowhere to go.
what I need, what I really need is
to confront the walls
and to get ready for that motherfucker
Death
almost with a sense of
glee.
why?: because I would be
getting away from
you.
who?
you: rat with eyes like a
woman.
SNOW WHITE
now continues
the slow retreat, still tabulating the wounds, the
escapes, the mutilated years.
there was always something in the way, something wrong,
there was never
enough.
now continues
the slow retreat,
packing age as an extra, no peace, even now.
you pluck a hair and find it to be white
Similar Books
